Page 21 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)

"Walk with me," he said, reaching for his cane. "The evening is mild."

We descended the narrow stairs in silence.

Papa moved slowly, but refused my offer of help.

His pride remained intact, even as his body betrayed him.

Outside, the streets were alive with evening activity—children playing their last games before being called in, women chatting on stoops, men smoking and discussing the day's events.

But something had changed. Eyes followed us as we walked. People nodded respectfully to Papa, but their gazes lingered on me with something new—fear mingled with deference.

"They look at you differently now," Papa said quietly once we'd reached the small courtyard where neighborhood men sometimes played cards. Tonight it was empty. "After what happened to Torrino's man."

I kept my face neutral. "I had nothing to do with that."

"But you work for the people who did." He eased himself onto a stone bench. "The whole neighbourhood knows."

"Paolo Conti did that. Not me. Not Lorenzo."

Papa sighed, looking older than his forty-eight years. "It doesn't matter who held the knife, Tonio. You stand with them now."

I couldn't argue. The neighbourhood saw me differently because I was different—a Benedetto man fully now, marked by association with their violence, even if my own hands hadn't delivered it.

"I'm still your son," I said quietly.

"Yes." He reached out, patting my knee awkwardly. "That's what worries me. This work... it changes men. I've seen it before."

"I'm careful."

"Not about your safety." His eyes, so like my own, searched my face. "About your soul."

The word hung between us, heavy with meaning. My soul. Already compromised by violence, by my complicity, by the love I now carried for Lorenzo—a love the church condemned, that society reviled, that would get us both killed if discovered.

"I go to confession," I offered weakly.

Papa snorted. "And what does Father Giuseppe say about your work?"

I thought of my last confession—not about violence but about Lorenzo. About the press of his lips against mine in the abandoned villa, about the promises whispered between us. Father Giuseppe's surprising compassion.

"He understands that sometimes we must make impossible choices," I said carefully.

"Hmm." Papa looked away, watching a group of children playing with a ball in the gathering dusk.

"When I was young, before you were born, I was offered work with the Albani family.

Good money, respect. All I had to do was break a few fingers when asked.

" He rubbed his own gnarled hands. "I said no.

We went hungry some months, but I slept at night with my conscience clean. "

The unspoken accusation stung. "We nearly lost the apartment last winter," I reminded him. "Enzo needs school books. Mama needs her medicine."

"I know, I know." He waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not judging you, son. God knows I'm grateful for the food on our table." He paused. "But this Benedetto heir you work with. What kind of man is he truly? The seed never falls far from the tree."

The question caught me off guard. I thought of Lorenzo's gentle hands, his passionate kisses, his inner conflict over his father's business. The way he'd winced when Paolo slid the knife across the man's throat.

"He's... different from his father," I said carefully. "More thoughtful. Less cruel."

"They say the son is soft."

"Not soft," I corrected quickly, defensively. "Just... sees beyond immediate fear to longer-term loyalty."

Papa studied me. "You respect him."

More than respect. But I merely nodded.

"Be careful there too," he said unexpectedly. "Respecting the man you work for can be more dangerous than fearing him. Makes you forget what he truly is."

I looked away, afraid my face would betray me. "I know exactly what he is, Papa."

We walked back slowly, Papa leaning on his cane. Near our building, little Marcella Rossi ran up to me with a flower clutched in her tiny fist.

"For you, Signor Romano!" she said, offering the daisy with solemn importance.

I knelt to accept it. "Grazie, piccola. What's this for?"

Her mother appeared behind her, smiling nervously. "For helping keep the neighbourhood safe," she explained, glancing around. "Those men who were watching you and your family... they frightened Marcella. But they're gone now."

I forced a smile, twirling the daisy between my fingers. "You're welcome, Signora Rossi."

As they walked away, Papa sighed. "And so it begins."

"What?"

"The neighbourhood seeing you as protection rather than neighbour." He shook his head. "Be careful with that too, Tonio. Such gratitude comes with expectations."

Later that night, I slipped out after everyone was asleep. Father Giuseppe had agreed to meet me at the church for a nighttime confession. I found him lighting candles near the altar, his young face solemn in the flickering light.

"Antonio," he greeted me quietly. "You seem troubled."

"I need guidance," I admitted, sitting heavily in the front pew. "After what Paolo did to Torrino's man..."

"I heard." His voice carried no judgment. "And your family is safer now."

"Yes, but at what cost?" I leaned forward, clasping my hands. "The neighbourhood looks at me differently. They're grateful, Father. Grateful for violence done in their name."

He sat beside me. "And this disturbs you."

"Shouldn't it? I didn't stop it. I stood by while Paolo..."

"You chose your family's safety," he said gently. "As you've always done."

I thought of Lorenzo, of our stolen moments at the villa. "And there's the other matter."

Understanding softened his features. "Your feelings haven't changed?"

"They've grown stronger," I confessed. "We've spoken. Things have happened between us. He feels the same."

Father Giuseppe was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing the wooden rosary at his belt. "Two impossible choices, then. Your work that protects your family but stains your hands. And a love that nourishes your soul but puts you in danger."

"What am I to do?" I whispered.

"Live with complexity," he answered simply. "Find moments of grace where you can. With your brother, your parents. With him." He didn't need to specify who. "The world rarely offers pure choices, Antonio. Sometimes we navigate between evils, searching for slivers of good."

I thought of Enzo's proud smile when he solved his equation, of Lorenzo's gentle touch, of Mama's soup warming our small kitchen. Slivers of good amidst the darkness.

"Tomorrow," I said, "Lorenzo and I meet again. To plan... whatever this becomes."

Father Giuseppe nodded. "Be discreet. Be wise. But Antonio—" he touched my shoulder lightly "—don't reject love when it finds you, even in unexpected forms. Such gifts are rare in this world, even if society deems them forbidden."

I left the church with his blessing weighing on me, the impossible path ahead somehow clearer for having been acknowledged.

In the distance, the Benedetto compound rose above the city, where Lorenzo played his part as the dutiful son, as I played mine as the loyal soldier.

Both of us pretending, both of us waiting for the moment when pretense could fall away.

Between those worlds—violence and love, duty and desire—I would have to find my way.

LORENZO

I waited until half past three to slip out of the house, taking care to avoid the guards at the eastern gate where Uncle Federico had increased security.

My conversation with Sophia Vitelli still echoed in my mind as I briskly walked, her intelligence and warmth making the deception all the more painful.

I'd spent the entire car ride home silent, staring out the window while Father discussed dowries and business arrangements as if they were one and the same.

The night air carried the scent of orange blossoms as I walked toward Villa San Michele.

I'd taken a circuitous route, doubling back twice to ensure I wasn't followed.

Paolo had been watching me more carefully since the Torrino incident, his eyes narrow with something like suspicion.

The thought of him discovering Antonio and me turned my blood to ice.

The villa stood silhouetted against the midnight sky, a shadow of its former glory. I approached silently, heart quickening at the faint glow of candlelight through the broken shutters.

Antonio was already there, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the small flame. He turned at my footsteps, relief washing over his features.

"You came," he said, as if he'd genuinely feared I wouldn't.

"I promised." I closed the distance between us, wanting to take him in my arms but hesitating. Something in my face must have betrayed me.

"The dinner?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "It's done. The arrangement is made."

"And the girl?"

"Sophia," I corrected gently. "Her name is Sophia."

Antonio's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "And what is Sophia like?"

I sank down onto the dusty chaise, suddenly exhausted. "Intelligent. Well-read. Trapped." I rubbed my face. "She doesn't want this any more than I do. She quoted Machiavelli while her father discussed olive exports."

"You liked her," Antonio said, not a question but an observation.

"I respect her," I clarified. "She deserves better than being a bargaining chip in our fathers’ business dealings."

Antonio sat beside me, leaving careful space between us. "And what did you promise this woman you respect?"

The guilt rose like bile in my throat. "Six months of courtship. A June wedding." I finally looked at him. "Promises you and I both know I have no intention of keeping."

His eyes, warm brown in the candlelight, studied me. "This is your life, Lorenzo. The fine houses, the arranged marriages, the business talks disguised as dinners." He gestured to his simple clothes. "So different from mine."

"A life I'm leaving behind," I insisted.

"Are you?" He asked quietly. "Tonight you dined with the Vitellis in their estate. You drove there in your father's plush towncar. Your father discussed your future while servants poured wine worth more than what my family makes in a month."

"Don't," I whispered.

"I'm not judging," he said quickly. "I'm trying to understand what you're giving up. For me." He swallowed hard. "A soldier with scarred knuckles and a tenement apartment."

I closed the distance between us, taking his face in my hands. "I'm giving up a cage, Antonio. Gold-plated and comfortable, but a cage nonetheless."

His callused hands covered mine. "And you're certain?"

"I've never been more certain of anything," I whispered before kissing him with all the desperation that had built within me during that interminable dinner. His arms encircled me, strong and sure, pulling me against his solid chest.

When we broke apart, both breathless, I pressed my forehead to his. "Have you spoken to your family? About Milano?"

A shadow crossed his face. "Not yet. Enzo will be devastated."

"We could bring him," I suggested impulsively. "Later, when we're settled."

Antonio pulled back slightly. "And explain what? That his brother ran away with another man? The son of Don Benedetto, no less?" He shook his head. "He's fourteen, Lorenzo. Too young to understand and too old to not ask questions."

The reality of what we were planning crashed over me like cold water. Not just leaving my family, but asking Antonio to abandon his. "I'm sorry," I said, the inadequacy of the words burning my tongue. "I hadn't considered—"

"You wouldn't," he interrupted, not unkindly. "You've never had to think about supporting others. Your world and mine..."

"Can meet in the middle," I finished firmly. "I have money saved. Not my family's money—my own. Enough to get us to Milano, to rent rooms until we find work."

"What work?" Antonio's laugh held no humor. "What skills do we have? I break bones for a living. You've never worked a day in your life."

"I'll learn carpentry," I insisted. "And you're educated, despite what you think. You read philosophy, Antonio. You could work in a bookshop, or—"

"A bookshop," he repeated softly, and something in his expression shifted. "You remember."

"Of course I remember." I took his hand, tracing the scars across his knuckles. "Everything you tell me, I remember."

He looked down at our joined hands. "I told Father Giuseppe about us."

My heart stumbled. "What did he say?"

"That love is a gift, even when it comes in unexpected forms." His voice had roughened. "That we should be discreet, but not reject what we've found."

I kissed his palm, then each scarred knuckle. "Wise advice."

"Lorenzo," he said seriously, "if we do this, there's no going back. Your father will search for you. He won't forgive this betrayal."

"I know."

"We might spend our lives looking over our shoulders."

"As long as you're by my side," I said, "I can face whatever comes."

Antonio pulled me to him, his embrace fierce. "Less than two weeks," he whispered against my hair. "Less than two weeks and we'll be free."

I didn't tell him about the dread pooling in my stomach, the certainty that leaving wouldn't be as simple as we hoped.

Instead, I held him tighter, committing to memory the feel of his heartbeat against mine, steady and true in this abandoned villa where, for a few stolen hours, we could pretend the outside world didn't exist.